The Timer
by PanicAttacker
Summary: HPDM SLASH When George invents a timer that will show the each person when they'll meet the one they'll love, he asks Harry to be the first to get it, knowing that it'll get witches and wizards to flock to get one, in hopes of being Harry's soul mate, so to speak. However, Harry's timer remains stubbornly blank, to the distress of many (Plot borrowed from the movie Timer)


**TIMER**

**Summary**:

When George Weasley invents a timer that will show the wearer when they'll meet their 'one.' He asks Harry to be the first to get one, knowing that witches and wizards will flock to get one, in hopes of being Harry's one. However, Harry's timer remains stubbornly blank.

* * *

Harry glanced up at the owl in his kitchen, eyebrow lifted in question, a letter in his hand, which was raised in the air. "Is this real?" He asked, half expecting a response. After the letter he'd just gotten, he'd be ready to believe just about anything.

Harry had been sitting at his kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading over the most recent newspaper he'd received when a pale owl flew into his home through an open window, roll of parchment clutched between its sharp talons. The fact that he was getting an owl at all was completely shocking in itself, considering that he worked as an unspeakable, and most information was too sensitive to be relayed through letters.

And then he opened the letter.

George Weasley was always up to interesting, curious, and sometimes mad ideas, but _this_? This was _mad_, completely bloody mad, stark raving mad in a way that his ideas had never been before.

Apparently, he invented a blasted timer which told the person who wore it when they'd meet the person they fell in love with - provided that the other person had a timer, of course. And if not? The timer would remain blank until their _One_ got a timer. Exactly how that worked was beyond comprehension for Harry, barring the whole **magic** explanation which he had long since gotten over.

Of _course_, George wanted him to be the first to get one. He thought it was a stroke of genius and bragged endlessly in his letter about how if Harry got the timer, so would every available witch and wizard in London, if only to see if he or she was Harry's match. Excellent marketing if Harry did say so himself. George knew how to sell a product, that was for sure.

He only had to ponder it for a moment before he tore off a strip of blank parchment from George's letter, and with the face of a person who just knew he was signing his death sentence, Harry responded with a simple "_When_?" Tying the note to the owl's leg, he sent it off.

He knew it was insane for him to agree, but bloody hell! The idea was genius, if done properly, and could get George enough money to get Mrs. Weasley to finally agree to take some. And that was more important than him embarrassing himself.

A slightly uneasy feeling settling in Harry's gut, he stood up and placed his cup in the sink before walking over to a calendar he had on the wall beside the door. He glanced over his schedule for the next few weeks, smiling when he saw it was surprisingly free. All he had was a few hours of work six days out of every week, and today was his day off.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, still smiling, and headed to the upper floors of Grimmauld place, knocking by habit on the wall where Mrs. Black's painting used to be. In the end, the painting's removal had been a simple matter; all he had to do was remove the square of wall that had her painting then magically repair it, spell the the chunk of wall with the shrieking frame quiet, and give it to Kreacher. Once he'd figured that out, he managed to get rid of a lot of other stuff, including the house elves' heads. After the war, he systematically cleaned out the entire house, and managed to make a few donations to the Department of Mysteries. Of course, by the time he completed training to become an unspeakable, the others had already figured out his donations, but it was still a nice feeling.

Reaching his room, he undressed as he walked to his closet. Glancing through his assortment of robes and muggle clothes, he pulled on a pair of grey slacks and a white button down shirt, with black and white robes on top. He ran a hand through his hair and peered in a mirror, shrugging when he saw that, like always, his attempt to groom his hair failed. After applying fresh deodorant and cologne, he headed out of his room.

Harry nearly went downstairs, but at the last moment, he turned and went to the bathroom beside his bedroom, absentmindedly pulling out his toothpaste and brush. After an awkward incident when Harry found his breath had been terrible all day, with no one telling him, he tried to make it a habit to always have fresh breath. _Especially_ after coffee.

Now properly dressed and clean, Harry jogged downstairs and, as predicted, a few minutes later an owl flew through the window in his kitchen, which he'd added in a year or so ago. Allowing the owl to perch on his shoulder, he untied the letter from it's claws and handled it a knut. He ignored the twisting feeling in his stomach, he opened the letter and saw the only thing written was the word "_Now_."

So, with a grimace, he stepped outside and apparated to Diagon Alley.

After a moment of disorientation and dizziness, he stepped out from the alleyway and into George's shop. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the ever present hustle and bustle of the colorful store, glancing around before refocusing. Weasley Wizarding Wheezes had always been popular and now, it could be said that it's net worth was greater than Zonko's, which pleased George to no end. His eyes scanned over people, fake wands, love potions, and faux candy in search of George.

Finally glimpsing him, he pushed his way through the crowd of people browsing through the isles, lifting a hand in acknowledgement when he heard an occasional person gasp "Harry _Potter_?" or call out a casual "Heya, Harry!"

When Harry reached George, he threw an arm around the man's shoulders and grinned up at him. "So, where do we do this?"

George turned to him with a lopsided smile. "Harry! Didn't expect you so quick, did I? Thought you would sulk and generally try to prolong the inevitable until I hunted you down and forced you to do this."

Harry's mouth opened and a few unintelligible sounds escaped. "I thought about it," he admitted with a slight shrug as he regained his wits. "Now, back to my question, yeah?"

George just smirked in reply, leading him to a small back room and telling him to sit on a squashy chair in the corner. The room was uninteresting, with a few chairs and two desks, and a ton of clutter. George pulled out his wand and shuffled through a drawer in the desk pressed against the far wall. After a moment or rummaging, he pulled out a thin strip of plastic that looked just long enough to loop around his wrist.

With a humm, he turned to Harry and gestured for his wrist. "Alright, mate, this is going to fasten itself to your skin, rather tightly, for a day or so, just to get a grip on your magical siggy, and other such stuff you wouldn't understand." Harry rolled his eyes at this. Sometimes, it seemed George forgot he was an unspeakable. "It'll loosen up later, just enough so it can slide a few inches around your arm, but not actually come off. It's going to stay blank until your match gets hers—his? Then it'll start a countdown to the day you'll meet your one. Savvy?" As George spoke, he folded the plastic around his wrist so that the ends touched, and with a murmured "_maniacerbalgia_!" and a flick of his wand.

Harry jumped in shock as the plastic tightened around his wrist with an instantaneous burning sensation on his skin. He pulled his wrist up to eye level, gritting his teeth as he eyes the skin around the timer, noticing the way it quickly got red and raw. He winced, his upper lip curling as he felt a wave of heat run through his wrist. "_Bloody hell_, George, you didn't say it would hurt this much! You said it was going to be a bit tight! My skin is _blistering_!" He practically snarled, lifting his hand and shoved it in George's face to make sure he saw just exactly how bad it was.

With widened eyes and a grimace, George eyed the quickly blistering skin on Harry's wrist, careful not to touch it. "I didn't see that coming," he muttered. "You might want to see a healer real quick. In the meantime, I need to figure out how to prevent that before my appointment with my next customer. Get better soon, yeah? I can't have my first customer injured from the timer."

Harry groaned and smacked his left hand to his forehead. "You idiot, George," he said with a sigh, standing to walk out of the room, and out of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes before apparating to St Mungos.

Within minutes, he had a swarm of healers looking over his hand, clicking their tongues against the roofs of their mouths and tsk-ing, seeming concerned and disapproving at the same time. When Harry refused point blank to take of the timer, one healer pursed her lips and told him they couldn't work with it there. The only thing they could do was recommend he find an adept potions master, and get a potion made.

The healers exchanged significant looks at that, and they decided unanimously that he needed to see their potion master. And as luck would have it, their potion master was Draco _bloody_ Malfoy, AKA, Ferret Face.

* * *

_**AN:**_

Hope you guys like it! Reviews inspire me to write faster, so feed the hungry review whore!

Fun trivia, when broken down, maniacerbalgia means obsession with bitter pain!


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